


The Princess and the Pea

by molo (esteefee)



Series: Bedtime Stories [1]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-17
Updated: 2006-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky's done with all of 'em.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess and the Pea

Starsky's shirt was plastered to his back with sweat from the run, and he could feel his nuts sticking to the crotch of his jeans as he slowed to walk weak-legged back to the Torino.

Rosey was gone.  He hadn't known how to keep her. 

Hadn't he been tender?  Wasn't he the sweetest damned guy ever to wait with his balls twisted in knots until she finally decided to invite him to her bed, all the ice on her lips melting at last under his countless soft, patient kisses?

But she was like one of those princesses locked away her whole life in a cold stone tower by her father. Or by her love of him. They never escaped, those princesses.  Sometimes when they tried they got eaten by dragons, or fell from their towers, or dropped into dreamless, eternal sleep. 

He was done with all of them. 

Hutch didn't look surprised at all to see him when Starsky let himself into Venice just after noon.  In fact, he didn't even look up from his book as Starsky stalked over to the fridge to pour himself a glass of cold orange juice.

Hutch's nose was still buried in the damned thing when Starsky came back into the living room.

"I'm done with all of 'em," he announced.  The juice sloshed in the glass a little, ruining his grand gesture.

"Uh huh," Hutch said absently.

"Hey, you're missing my big proclamation, here."

"I hear you.  You're done with them."  Hutch turned a page, the big fingers shifting to hold the book one-handed so he could scratch his chest.

"That's right.  No more.  _Finito_ with the blonde bombshells and their warped sense of familial responsibility.  And ditto the bitchy brunettes like Suzette who blow hot and cold depending on what fucking day of the week it is. I'm done with all of 'em."

"Done with 'em," Hutch agreed.

Starsky shot a sharp look Hutch's way.  There was just the tiniest crease, right there, next to Hutch's mouth.  The little crease that said he plain didn't believe him. Was _laughing_ at him, the bastard.

"You know I fucking hate it when you do that."

Hutch looked up finally.  Slowly, he raised one eyebrow.  _So?_

Starsky put down his juice and walked toward the couch.  "You want me to demonstrate?"

A wolf-grin now, a white-toothed sneer, upper lip curving higher on one side.  The side Starsky always enjoyed nibbling on. 

"I'm reading."  Hutch dropped his eyes back to his book.

Starsky leaned down and plucked it from his hands.  He gave the cover a quick glance. 

" _Feeding and Lighting Strategies for Growing Indoor Tropicals_.  Uh, yeah.  I can see why you're absolutely riveted."

Hutch's fingers went back to his chest and the exposed skin at the opening of his shirt.

"So? Wanna have a try at riveting me?"

It was the best invitation Starsky had had in months.  Since the last time, in fact. He dropped the book on the coffee table with a thunk and straddled the lanky form on the couch. Hutch's hands moved to his legs and started rubbing up and down.  Starsky tensed his thigh muscles just to see Hutch's slow, lazy smile. 

"You're all sweaty," Hutch said, his voice like coffee and cream.

"So?  Think you can make me sweatier?"

"I know it," Hutch said, and he reached up to grip the back of Starsky's neck, pulling him down for a grinding kiss, the kind that made Starsky's toes curl in his sneakers and left him without a lung to breathe with.  Then Hutch was swinging around, Starsky still in his lap, and he stood, his arms like iron bars caging Starsky's waist.  Starsky clutched at Hutch's shoulders and locked his ankles behind Hutch's ass while Hutch stagger-walked him over to the bed, dumping him down onto the mattress.

"Gonna fuck you into Tuesday," Hutch threatened, stripping hastily.

"We're off until Wednesday." Starsky grunted as he struggled out of his shoes and sweaty clothing. 

"You can pick up the slack."  Then Hutch was on him, helping with the jeans that insisted on sticking to Starsky's thighs.  He yanked them off and threw them to the side.

"She like to give head?" Hutch asked, taking hold of Starsky's exposed cock. 

"Ahh," Starsky moaned as Hutch sucked him into his mouth, taking him down like a sword-swallower.  "No...too much...of...fucking princess."  Then the dangerous feeling of Hutch's fingers testing his asshole made him start to jerk upward into the hot throat.

Hutch pulled away just as Starsky was getting into the rhythm.

"No?  She know to put her fingers in you? Make you crazy?"

"Hutch..." Starsky groaned.  He waited impatiently while Hutch went for the lube, then those sly fingers were back, penetrating him smoothly, making him crazy like Hutch had promised. Starsky spread his knees and pushed down onto the searching fingers until they hit him just right.  Then Hutch's mouth was on him again, a hint of teeth nibbling at the head before taking all of him, down to the root, like no one else had ever managed to, and Starsky bucked against the double stimulation until he was redlining with pleasure, blowing his heart out as he yelled and pumped his come into Hutch's mouth.

"Christ," Starsky groaned when Hutch pulled away, licking him clean and tidy.  He felt Hutch nuzzle his balls, licking there, too.

"Guess the answer is 'no' on that last one," Hutch said smugly.

Hutch's fingers were still in him, twisting around, preparing him.  He bent his knees up to help, and Hutch grunted with approval before pulling away to lube his thick shaft.

"You ready for Tuesday?" Hutch's eyes were gleaming in the patterned light slanting through the shades. 

Starsky nodded and raised his legs, wrapping them around Hutch's upper torso.  Then the hard, demanding press of Hutch's cock was filling him like nothing else could.  Starsky moaned his plea for more, and Hutch gave it to him, thrusting inward and up until Starsky shuddered, a whining noise escaping his throat.

"She ever make you sound like that?" Hutch whispered thickly, his hips starting to move in a smooth cadence.  His hands were hard on Starsky's thighs, fingertips digging into the muscle.

"Oh, God," Starsky gasped in reply, Hutch's cockhead tormenting him inside.  He lost track of his body, his hands falling back over his head as he twisted mindlessly to maximize the pressure on his prostate. 

"You move so sweet," Hutch groaned, and then swore when Starsky squeezed tight, clenching hard to try to keep that thick cock inside where it could do the most good.

"God, baby," Hutch said, his voice deep and rough, and he shifted to start thrusting faster.

"Didya...just...call me 'baby'?" Starsky's lips pulled back in a part-smile, part-grimace. His ass was starting to feel like the Holland Tunnel during rush hour.  But the power of Hutch's torso between his legs was making him high, and the steady rhythm was bringing his cock up again like magic. 

Hutch was oblivious.  He'd thrown his head back, neck and shoulder muscles straining beautifully as he slowed to telltale short, powerful thrusts.  He let out a deep-chested groan and came, his hands closing convulsively on Starsky's thighs.

"Ahhhh.  God.  God."  Hutch leaned over to kiss him, and Starsky's legs slid down to his hips.  "Beautiful," Hutch said against his lips.  Then he pulled away to collapse onto one side, ending up with Starsky's thigh trapped hard beneath his waist. But Hutch didn't seem to mind it. 

They lay there for a long time, Hutch's sweat mingling with his, Starsky's hand moving over the slick back, rubbing him down like a race horse.

"Up," Starsky finally grumbled, pushing at the lax body, which was somehow heavier than it was minutes before.  Hutch lifted up and Starsky slid out from underneath to grab the lube.

"C'mon, you know how I like you," Starsky said when Hutch continued to lie there, yawning a little. Starsky knelt and smacked one lean buttock. 

Hutch jerked and gave him a reproachful look, then moved sluggishly to kneel near the head of the bed, grabbing the brass rail and spreading his knees wide.

"That's it," Starsky said, soothing the wounded cheek with a lick and a kiss.  He reached around to fondle Hutch's slick cock, which was already stirring again.  The guy had the recovery time of a teenager. 

Hutch mumbled something against his arm and then grunted a little when Starsky forced two wet fingers inside of him. 

"Always so damned tight," Starsky said accusingly.  Hutch never let him in easy, but he _always_ let him in.  Man, he was beautiful. 

And Hutch never complained about the rough treatment, either.  It took a hard thrust for Starsky to get in, and Hutch gave a familiar little gasp, but took it.  Once Starsky was inside, that tight heat clenching around him, he waited a second to enjoy the shift and stretch of Hutch adjusting to his cock. 

Then Starsky started fucking him.

Hutch was good, and stiffened his arms, giving Starsky a solid target to thrust against. He heard Hutch groan pleadingly, and knew he was where he was wanted.  Hutch took the pain with the pleasure and loved him anyway.  Hell, Hutch would take a bullet for him and be glad to do it. 

Rosey wouldn't even kiss off her father for him.

No. She had never made him feel like this, like he was riding a storm that he'd unleashed.  For the Princess, the soft, sweet, tender kisses.  And for Hutch, the power of his body, thrusting and driving them strongly somewhere wild together.  Somewhere dangerous. He took them there now, with his cock, and his thighs, and his hand, and his thundering heart, and he heard Hutch groan, "Perfect.  God, perfect, right there," and Starsky gave it to him, pumping hard and long until Hutch yelled, hurled into the dangerous place, pulling Starsky with him with the convulsive clenching of his ass.

Afterward they cleaned up together, sharing the one towel, exchanging exhausted kisses as they bumped around the small space of Hutch's bathroom.  Hutch put his clothes back on and settled onto the couch again, picking up his book.  Starsky grabbed his warm orange juice and drank it thirstily, but the sweetness cloyed on his tongue.  He got up and found a beer to chase it with.

Hutch looked up and made a face at him.  "It's two o'clock in the afternoon," he said mildly. 

"Happy hour," Starsky said, giving him a toast.  His body felt incredibly relaxed after the running and the fucking, and the cold beer was doing its job, loosening him up even more.  Rosey was a bad memory.  Hutch had pushed it away.

"Done with 'em," Starsky mumbled around the lip of his bottle.

Hutch didn't look up, but the tiny crease was back.  Maybe it was just the afternoon shadows playing tricks with the lines of his face, but somehow he didn't look as amused, this time around.

Almost, he looked sad.

 _Fin_.

 

July 17, 2006

San Francisco, CA


End file.
